LADY MARY. George, who and what is this woman?
LORD BROCKLEHURST (cowering). She was—she is—the shame of it—a lady’s-maid.
LADY MARY (properly horrified). A what?
LORD BROCKLEHURST. A lady’s-maid. A mere servant, Mary. (LADY MARY whirls round so that he shall not see her face.) I first met her at this house when you were entertaining the servants; so you see it was largely your father’s fault.
LADY MARY (looking him up and down). A lady’s-maid?
LORD BROCKLEHURST (degraded). Her name was Fisher.
LADY MARY. My maid!
LORD BROCKLEHURST (with open hands). Can you forgive me, Mary?
LADY MARY. Oh George, George!
LORD BROCKLEHURST. Mother urged me not to tell you anything about it; but—